


In Green Fields

by ElderberryWine



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Not part of any series.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wrote this a few days before ROTK came out.   To my great disappointment, this scene was not there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Green Fields

"The King! Where is the King?" the young esquire ran wildly through the encampment. "He is most urgently needed!"

Aragorn heard the shrill cry as he sat wearily at his ease under the shelter of one of the white silken tents, and sighed as he snuffed out his long pipe. "Ah, laddie, they'd be after you again," chuckled Gimli, as he and Leogolas sat companionably near the man, Gimli in a leather camp-chair, and Leogolas gracefully sprawled on the grass.

It had been but a few hours since the great cloud arose out of the East as the Black Gate fell. The bulk of the Enemy's forces had fled in despair and ruin, and Aragorn had left the remaining tasks of the battlefield to the forces of Gondor and the Rohirrim. He was weary, bone-weary, now that the immediate threat had been vanquished. Along with his companions, the Elf and Dwarf, he had found his way to a back corner of the encampment, there to eat a bit of hastily prepared stew, and to gather up his strength and energy once more. But here came a messenger, and Aragorn's moment of peace was over.

"Lord Elfstone!" panted the youth as he burst past the guard outside, his black leather tunic, with the white tree blazoned upon it, disheveled and bloodied.

"Let him pass," Aragorn held up a restraining hand to the guard. Silently, he waited for the squire to continue.

"Lord Gandalf," the messenger gasped. "He most urgently bids you come. He sends word that the Ringbearer has been found."

"The Ringbearer?" Aragorn cried out in amazement, leaping to his feet. Suddenly, he realized that he had not seen Gandalf since the arrival of the Eagles. But there was no time to think. "Where, lad, where?" he cried out, unknowingly grasping the boy's shoulder.

"The tent of the healers," was the quick answer, and Aragorn was gone.

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Gandalf was bent over the low, wide pallet as Aragorn entered the tent of the healers. The cot was laid with soft mattresses and covered with white scrubbed linen. In the center were what appeared at first glance as a couple of bundles of filthy rags and sticks. Gandalf turned then to him, and some dispassionate corner of Aragorn's mind registered the fact the there were the tracks of tears on Gandalf's furrowed cheeks. "We asked far too much of them," he whispered, looking slowly up to Aragorn. "And yet they gave it."

With a shock, Aragorn realized that it was indeed Frodo and Sam that he looked upon, on that wide snowy bed. They were blackened, charred, begrimed, with faces that were gaunt and hollowed, and limbs that no longer showed the padding of flesh. They were wrapped in remnants of only the foulest of rags, and as they lay unconscious, Sam still clasped Frodo's hands tightly in his, which were covered in the deep red of yet fresh blood. But the expression on both of their faces was untroubled and tranquil, beyond pain and torment.

"Are they yet…" breathed Aragorn, sinking to his knees beside the low bed.

""There is yet life in them both," Gandalf murmured, "but it fades quickly. All your skill shall be needed, Aragorn, or they shall be lost to us."

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Long and far Aragorn called to the Ringbearer, until at last he found Frodo, and the will of the hobbit slowly and reluctantly turned back to plea of the king. "Come back, Frodo, there are many here who love you and your time is not yet over." And as Gandalf and the other healers watched, Frodo gasped in his deep sleep, and his breathing steadied.

But when Aragorn turned to the Ringbearer's companion, he could not be found. And even as Aragorn frantically sought his life's force, he felt Sam fading away from him, even as his heartbeat, once so strong and sure, faltered and then stopped. Grief-stricken, he withdrew from the emaciated hobbit and laid gentle hands upon his forehead. "Farewell, most valiant of hobbits," he whispered, his voice desolate with pain.

"He never did leave him," Gandalf murmured, as Aragorn reluctantly lifted his head, tears flowing unheeded down his cheeks. Tenderly, the wizard's great hand covered the two hobbits' yet tightly clasped hands. "He gave his life that Frodo might complete his task. Never have I known a greater heart than that of Master Samwise Gamgee."

And even as the two watched, Frodo inhaled quickly, his chest fluttering, as he gratefully inhaled the clear clean air of Cormallen, and slowly his eyes opened. "Gandalf," he whispered, his voice nearly a harsh croak, his eyes blinking as though blinded by the light.

"Yes, my dear Frodo," Gandalf answered tenderly, tightening his grip carefully. "My dear hobbit, we are both back, you see."

"And Sam?" Frodo breathed, continuing to gaze into Gandalf's eyes.

Gandalf bowed his head, unable to continue. It was then Frodo looked down at his hands, still held by Sam, and then into Sam's face, tranquil and at peace, as he lay beside him, utterly still.

Frodo slowly broke one hand from Sam's grasp, and it was only then that the onlookers saw the bloody stump, the maimed and shattered hand. Yet Frodo gave it no thought as he slowly raised it to the side of Sam's still face, and turned towards him, as if there were no other in all the world, and nothing else that had ever mattered. With infinite tenderness, he touched Sam and spoke words for him alone, and all the rest withdrew, leaving the Ringbearer with his companion.

It was thus that Aragorn and Gandalf found them, an hour later , when they returned. Frodo had fallen asleep once again, the one hand still in Sam's clasp, and the other, mutilated and bloodied, holding Sam tightly to him. And Sam lay next to Frodo, his head nestled in the crook of Frodo's neck, both hands still wrapped around Frodo's, his eyes closed, breathing deeply and steadily.

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

That evening, Aragorn stared into the fire that had been lit in his makeshift quarters. Of all the sights that he had seen that day, there was one that haunted him beyond all others. Gandalf sat at his side, sipping at his goblet of wine, his own eyes gazing unseeingly at the tented walls.

"I felt his heart stop," Aragorn finally broke the silence in a harsh whisper. "I felt him leave me. Gandalf, he was dead." He stopped at that, with a sort of desperate check in his voice. "How can this be? What sort of power has Frodo gained?"

"Frodo?" the old wizard stared at him sharply in the flickering light. "Frodo has no power here." Turning his gaze back to the regal, jewel-encrusted goblet, he permitted himself a small smile. "Sauron underestimated the nature of hobbits, to his ruin. Have you not learned by now, Aragorn, that there is very little that can withstand the heart of a hobbit?" Slowly he rose to leave, but turned at the tent's entrance. Dark eyes stared piercingly back at Aragorn, as the man sought to make sense of what Gandalf had just told him. "Sam came back for him, of course."


End file.
